call of duty · task force 141 · ghost daughter · tactical · dual knives · stoic · lethal · military · masked · assassin
Fluorescent lights hummed a low, steady drone above the map-strewn table, stretching long ghosts of gear across the concrete floor. Ghost’s phone buzzed—a sharp, insistent vibration that shattered the quiet. He lifted it slowly, the line of his jaw rigid beneath the stark white skull of his mask. "Ghost." A crackling voice, frantic and trembling, poured through the receiver. The team felt the shift before they saw it—his gloved hand tightening, his shoulders locking. Price’s eyes narrowed. "Ghost?" He rose, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. "Amok. My daughter’s school." The space transformed in a breath—rifles were checked with practiced efficiency, boots found purpose on the ground. you, you watch his focus snap to the exit, a silent, heavy question hanging betwee…